It's That Day Again
by kandisi
Summary: Slash, Peter/Sylar. It’s that day again, the day between Christmas and Peter's birthday. At Rockefeller Center, Peter gets a crash landing from Sylar, and from there, Sylar stalks him, determined to give Peter his presents. Rated M for some brief smut.


**Title:** It's That Day Again  
**Author:** sapphire17  
**Pairing:** Peter/Sylar  
**Characters:** Peter Petrelli, Sylar/Gabriel Gray, Mofhinder Suresh (Mohinder's always magically appearing in my Petlar/Pylar fics now.)  
**Rating:** Adult, yo. Don't say I didn't warn you! :0...  
**Summary:** It's Christmas Eve, and all Peter wants to do is buy a freaking door lock. At Rockefeller Center, Peter gets a crash landing from Sylar, and from there, Sylar stalks him, determined to give Peter his presents. Rated M for some sexin' and language.  
**Warnings:** Some sexual stuff, bad language, very mild violence, the fact that Peter doesn't know how to fix a lock on his door  
**A/N:** This was written for my buddy lornrocks. Hope you like this okay, hon! And December 23rd really is Peter's birthday, and in 2009 this year, he skips to the big three-o. I always did think it would kind of suck to have you birthday right NEXT to Christmas. I'm sure you get your presents cut in half that way. x__x And Sylar's b-day is also on June 2nd, and he turns thirty-three next year. Well, anyways, read on! And please review, that is, if you have something nice to say!

**It's That Day Again**

Peter Petrelli sighed to himself.

A-gain.

_It's that day again..._

Indeed.

December twenty-fourth, the day between Christmas, and Peter's birthday.

And yesterday, Peter had just taken the big jump to thirty years old.

True, he didn't look it, but...

This just wasn't working out.

It was Christmas Eve, and he was spending it alone...

Hell, his birthday had been the day before, and he had spent that alone, too...

Sure, his mother had come by, but that had only made things worse... More shit about Nathan, more shit about how he was gone, more shit about how he wasn't coming back...

His ma had offered him money (like she did ev-er-y year), and had given him some expensive dinette set and had offered him some furniture (which, Peter _desperately_ needed...), but with the exception of the dinette set, Peter had turned everything down.

Just like he did ev-er-y year.

Those expensive crystal wine glasses Angela had bought him sure would come in handy the following day, though. Looks like Peter was going to be 'partying' alone.

Peter stood before his decorated, evergreen Christmas tree, and sighed again.

The space underneath his tree was empty. Usually by now, Nathan's present was all that remained. Peter wondered what ridiculous item Nathan would have bought him _this_ year? Couldn't be any worse than the box of condoms he had given Peter when he had turned eighteen (Which, Peter had sadly used...)... Or the tickets to the VIP room of a very famous gentlemen's club Nathan had gift-wrapped Peter when he had turned twenty-one...(Okay, so he hadn't used those...) Or the bottle of aged scotch Nathan had handed him when he had turned twenty-six. (Nathan had ended up carrying Peter to bed that night, while Peter had cried about why ever in the world Fox would cancel his favourite soap...)...

Peter had bought everyone a present this year, though, besides Nathan. His ma, Claire, Noah, Emma, Hiro, Ando, Mohinder...

But...

No Nathan...

Time to go to Rockefeller Center.

And to Home Depot.

Peter needed to replace the lock on his door.

It had been busted while he had been at work... by some person or another... Thankfully, they had failed to get in. Not that they would have found anything worth stealing. Peter's apartment was like a virgin. Okay... bad metaphor, it was like a naked woman.

_Worse_ metaphor.

What he meant was that his apartment needed some clothes?

NO...

It just needed... stuff... yeah...

There we go.

And Christmas was a high-point in crime during the year, after all...

So, with that in mind, Peter grabbed his coat, his gloves, his scarf, and went downstairs, and out the doorway, where he promptly hailed a cab.

...Which was being driven by none other than Mohinder Suresh.

"Hi Mohinder!" Peter happily stated as he got into the back of the cab.

"Hey Peter," Mohinder remarked, sounding just as happy, "How's it going?"

"A little lonely..." Peter responded, "I'm spending Christmas Eve alone..."

"Well so am I," Mohinder remarked, "I have double shifts tonight, so I'll be working on Christmas. At least you get the night off. So where to, Mr. Petrelli?"

"Please, call me 'Peter'," Peter chuckled, even though he knew Mohinder had been joking around, "To Rockefeller Center."

"Alrighty," Mohinder answered, "Going there to admire the big tree, eh?"

"Something like that," Peter stated in response, "I just... need some time to myself to think, you know? Away from home. I can't stand it. All of the memories of Nathan..."

"Where is Nathan, anyway?" Mohinder inquired as he drove, "I know I haven't been out of that mental institution long—Hiro only got me out of there last week, and God knows I'm still angry as Hell at him—but yes, I haven't seen Nathan on T.V. or in the papers at all, minus an article saying something about how he flew off to Europe and then vanished or something..."

"Uuh, yeah..." Peter concurred, "Nathan's... in Northern France right now, spending the holidays there."

Angela Petrelli had made-up that story.

Go figure.

"Well how long is he going to be there, Peter?"

"Not sure."

Mohinder's brow furrowed.

He was too smart for his own good.

"Seems kind of... suspicious for Nathan to just 'take off' like that for over a month, around the holidays like that. I thought he always spent Christmas with you? Are you sure he's okay?"

"Nathan probably went there for the French hookers," Peter informed, being as harsh as he possibly could to sound all the more convincing. "My brother never could keep it in his pants, especially for the blondes."

Mohinder chuckled, finally buying Peter's lies. "Oh, okay then. I guess that explains enough. Sorry for sticking my nose where it didn't belong, you sounded angry just now."

"I am angry. Like you said, Nathan usually spends the holidays with me, but this year... he's gone. He's gone away from me. It's like he's... not anywhere now, almost like he's dead..."

"Well luckily, that's not the case. He'll be back."

"I wish that were true..." Peter murmured, barely audible.

"What?"

"N-Nothing, Mohinder."

"Oh, happy belated birthday, Peter," Mohinder presented with a smile, "I heard you hit the big three-o this year."

"Yeah... I'm getting old."

"Well if it's any consolation, you most certainly don't look it."

Peter laughed. "Thanks, and thank you for the tool set, by the way. It was just what I needed this year. Some kid who probably thought he was being a badass tried to break into my apartment and ruined my door lock, so, I'm going to have to replace it."

Mohinder chuckled. "And thank you for the weights. I could really use them."

"Well, you are superstrong. God knows when I had your strength after... after Sylar's 'death' that a LOT of people stared at me when I bench-pressed eight-hundred pounds at 24 Hour Fitness."

"That's why I don't go there anymore. Last time I went, I ended up breaking two of the weight-lifting machines, and had to pay for them. One of them was a stairmaster... I suppose I... yes, stepped on it a bit too hard..."

Peter laughed out loud again. "We really should get together some time, Mohinder."

"I would like that. Well, we're here, Peter. Rockefeller Center," Mohinder clarified, "God, that tree sure is a beautiful sight, isn't it? Especially tonight."

"Yeah..." Peter solemnly agreed, getting out his wallet. "How much do I owe you?"

"You know it's on me, Peter," Mohinder chuckled, "Always is with you. Now, if I was driving cabs in Hell for a living and you were Sylar on the other hand... may cost you a few hundred extra..."

"Sylar can go _fuck_ himself," Peter lashed out.

Mohinder blinked. Peter had sounded ready to kill just then.

"Well, yes, I agree..."

"I mean—I'm sorry, I'm just in a really bad mood right now..." Peter trailed off. "Thanks for the free ride, and have a merry Christmas, Mohinder, and a happy New Year."

"You too, Peter," Mohinder smiled, "Sure you don't won't me to wait for you?"

"Nah, I plan on walking to Home Depot from here, it's just a couple blocks over. See you later."

"Bye, Peter."

"Bye, Mohinder."

Peter hence exited the cab, and walked his way through the park as Mohinder drove off, into the night. Peter walked down the cemented path, shivering slightly. Fuck it was cold, maybe he should have had Mohinder wait for him after all?

Peter threw the scarf around his neck, and stopped when he reached the tall, illuminated tree.

He stared up at it, eyeing the large star on top as it began to rain soft snow from the sky above.

It really was a beautiful sight.

If only...

"I'm so sorry, Nathan..." Peter whispered, "I've accepted the fact that you're gone now, that you're in Heaven. Merry Christmas, Nathan, merry Christmas..."

Peter stayed standing still for a few more moments, just wishing, hoping, dreaming... much like he always did at all hours of the day.

Then, just as Peter was about to turn and leave, he suddenly heard a high-pitched scream.

Then, a crashing sound on the other side of the tree.

It was like someone had fallen right out of the sky.

Huh?

What?

A pause.

Maybe someone had fallen from a skyscraper or something?

"Oh my God..." Peter muttered, running around to the other side of the tree, "Don't worry, I'm coming!"

When Peter reached his destination, he saw a man, dressed mostly in black, on his stomach. And, fuck, his spinal cord was _sticking halfway out his back._ If he was alive, he'd be _paralyzed_.

"Oh my... oh my God," Peter repeated, "H-Hold on, I'm calling an ambulance!"

"Don't do it, Peter..."

Peter flipped his phone shut just as soon as he had opened it.

"_Who_ are you...?"

Peter stepped closer, kneeling down. He took a closer look at the man's face, and his eyes widened.

"Sylar..."

"I guess—I guess I flew too close to you. I didn't think... that your current power extended that far..."

"You _bastard_," Peter seethed, "I should stay here with you, until you die from nothing but the pain."

"I can't—I can't feel my legs, Peter..."

Peter paused again. Why did he feel... bad?

"I'm sorry."

"Then let me heal, Peter," Sylar silently requested, suddenly taking Peter's gloved hand into his own, tightly, "Let me heal."

"I... I..."

"You're not a murderer."

Peter then remembered the way that Sylar—during his temporary run as 'Gabriel'—had come back for him when his father had tried to have Mohinder experiment on him. If it hadn't been for Sylar, Peter knew he would be dead. He had also saved him again, from his father, and from killing his father. Even after all of the horrible things Sylar had done, he was still a human being... even if he was still a soulless killer.

Peter sighed. "Alright, I'll let you heal, but if I EVER see your face again, I WILL kill you, do you understand me? Before Christmas, I want you to disappear from New York, and never return again. You can go to Canada, to Germany, or to the North Pole to become a too-tall elf and make Christmas presents for Santa Clause for all I care. Just anywhere that is not.. here.. Am I making myself clear?"

"Peter... Santa Clause... is... from Finland..." Sylar said through the torrential pain.

Peter rolled his eyes, and sighed. "Whatever..."

Damnit.

Peter had known that.

But.

"_Again_, am I making myself clear?"

"Yes..." Sylar murmured.

Peter closed his eyes, and shut-off his current ability. When Sylar tried to move, he still found that he couldn't, and he couldn't reach his arms back far enough to fix himself. With another sigh, Peter let go of Sylar's hand, placing his hands over Sylar's lower back. He untangled Sylar's broken spine from his shirt, causing Sylar to hiss out in pain, before he put the palm of his hand over it.

"This may hurt a bit," Peter stated, "Now brace yourself. Like I said, this is gonna hurt. I know from experience. Now, on my mark. One, two, three..."

And then, he snapped Sylar's spinal cord back into place, as Sylar howled in agony. Afterwards, Sylar's bones sewn back together, the wound above them healed itself over, and Peter pulled down Sylar's shirt and coat and brushed the snow off of it.

Peter then stood, and turned around. "Now leave, Sylar. Fly off, and never come back. And stop.. following.. me.. You've got five seconds to fly away from here, before I turn on my current ability again."

"Thank you, Peter..." Sylar said with a dark smile, dark in the way that his smiles almost always were, "I didn't expect that. You could have let me continue to suffer, you could have let me die."

"I could have killed you many times, Sylar," Peter responded, "But, as you've said before, I'm not a killer. You are. If that had of been me, you would have let me die without hesitation."

"You don't know me as well as you think."

"Whatever. Merry Christmas, now, fuck off," Peter snarled, turning before he once again began walking down the cemented path, back towards the streets.''

Sylar only smiled again as Peter's back receded. "Merry Christmas, Peter."

Peter heard a faint 'swooshing' sound, and looked back over his shoulder, to see that Sylar was gone.

Peter smirked. Sylar wouldn't leave. He would stay in NYC, go after Peter and his ma again. Maybe even Mohinder. Go after more people with abilities.

Fuck.

What had Peter been thinking?

He continued to walk down the streets, and the streets were mostly deserted at this hour on Christmas Eve.

Finally, Peter had reached Home Depot, and he entered through the automatic doors and went into the store, after dropping a couple of dollars into the donation pot outside where a man had been ringing a bell.

"Merry Christmas, sir, can I direct you anywhere?" a male employee inquired.

Peter nodded. "I need a lock for my door."

"Aisle seven."

"Thanks, merry Christmas," Peter thanked, walking down the aisles.

He still couldn't shake the incessant feeling that he was being followed, however... stalked, watched, observed.

Peter kept his eyes open, walking down the proper aisle. He reached the doorknobs and door locks, his eyes running over the wide-range of them to choose from. He settled on one, and then, walked back down the aisle.

***

From the end of the next aisle over, Sylar watched as Peter Petrelli made his way down aisle seven, and turned the corner.

He wasn't only going to kill Peter, he was going to make him suffer.

Right...?

Maybe...

Sylar was still a little taken with Peter, after what he had done for Sylar... Sylar decided to stick with his original plan. Wait until Peter got back to his apartment, and take care of him there. Sylar was going to do so earlier in the night, but, Peter had unexpectedly taken off to Rockefeller Center, and now, as inexplicable as it was, to Home Depot of all places. What the Hell? Was Peter buying a late Christmas present or something? Either way, a door lock was a _stupid_ present to buy. Sylar would never be so lame.

"I _knew_ you were following me."

Sylar jumped, and turned.

"P-Peter, how did you...?"

"Sneak up on you?" Peter smirked, "Trust me, I am better at it than you think. Now, what the Hell are you doing? Just thought you'd follow me around all night, even after I specifically made a deal with you for your life?"

"I don't make deals, Peter."

"I should have known," Peter said, rolling his eyes, "Well what are you going to do now?"

"I don't know."

"Whatever," Peter once again said, sounding as if he was brushing everything right off his shoulder, "Nathan's gone, and I've accepted that. I only wish you were, too. Mark my words, Sylar... I will make you pay for my brother's death. Hell, if I was in the mood for kicking your ass right now, I'd do so now, but its Christmas time, and I'd like some peace. I don't know how serial killers celebrate the holidays, but I honestly do not want to find out."

"Who says you'd be the one kicking _my_ ass?" Sylar asked, returning Peter's rudeness.

"Sylar, I am _always_ the one kicking your ass."

"Only because I let you."

"What, do you get-off on me beating you up or something?"

"Maybe."

"Pervert," Peter hissed, turning once again, "Now, leave me alone, before I nail you to the ceiling next time, and leave you there."

But Sylar didn't leave Peter alone.

He followed him to the check-out register, and out of the store, out into the parking lot, and down into the street.

Peter said nothing at first, but finally, holding the Home Depot sack in his hand, he turned around and exclaimed a loud, "What in the _Hell_ is it with you?"

"I owe you, Peter."

"No, you don't," Peter smartly answered, "You saved me, and now I've saved you. We're even."

"But you had the chance to kill me, four times, five now, and you didn't, so I owe you for that."

"How exactly were you planning on repaying me, Sylar?" Peter questioned with suspicion.

"By not letting you spend Christmas alone like you did your thirtieth birthday yesterday. I turn thirty-three on June second, by the way. Whatever are you going to get me, Peter?"

Peter arched a brow. "...How did you know my birthday was the twenty-third? And-And how did you know that I spent it alone...?"

Sylar smirked. "I know everything about you, Peter. While I was working for Arthur, I peeked into your files, and saw your birthday there. Must have sucked having your birthday two days before Christmas as a child, since then, you'd get the same presents for Christmas that you would get for your birthday, only split in two, rather than double or nothing. And, I know that you spent your birthday alone because you are alone right now, not because I was following you yesterday."

"You don't know shit about me, Sylar," Peter harshly responded, "And I am going home now. Do not, I repeat do _not_ follow me there. I would rather _die_ than spend Christmas Eve with my brother's killer."

"Would an apology make everything better?"

"...What the hell do you think? Are you even _sorry_ that you killed Nathan?"

"No."

"Fuck you," Peter spat out, turning as he hailed a cab, "Now, leave me the fuck alone."

A cab pulled up, and Peter got into it, slamming the door shut, causing the cab driver to jump in his seat.

What the fuck had that been?

Sylar actually expected Peter to spend his Christmas Eve with _him?_ And even more bedazzling, Sylar had acted as if Peter should be _thankful_ for that simple factor.

Hmp.

Not a chance in Hell.

As the cab made its way back to Peter's apartment complex, Peter was still thinking about that madman, about Nathan, about his ma, about Claire, about... everything, really. Peter still couldn't get over the killer.

"_Would an apology make everything better?"_

The _nerve_.

When the cab pulled up in front of Peter's apartment complex, Peter paid the cab driver, exited the cab, and entered the complex. He took the elevator up to his designated floor, and got out his keys.

He stuck a key in the key hole, and tried to turn it, only...

"Fuck, it's jammed again. Damned thing..."

Finally, finally, the door opened...

Five fucking minutes later!

This was _not_ Peter's day.

He entered his apartment, and rather than shutting the door, went into the kitchen to get out a Philip's screw driver that Mohinder had given him as part of his tool set along with a pair of scissors. He got the door lock out of the Home Depot sack, and cut the plastic barrier that encased the metal lock. Once free of it, Peter took it and the screw driver and went back to the door after taking off his gloves and scarf, going to work on it.

"Damned thing..." Peter repeated. Fuck, this was harder than he thought it would be! Peter was _lousy_ when it came to fixing things. He understood people like no tomorrow, but when it came to objects and logic and all that, Peter was completely dumbfounded. Objects and logic had no heart, after all, unlike people.

Maybe that was why Sylar was the only person in the world that Peter _couldn't_ figure out.

He had no heart.

No soul.

Peter dropped the screw driver, and cursed again. Now the broken door lock was lodged in the door and Peter couldn't get it out!

He was trying to fix something, and had only ended up making it worse.

Just like Nathan.

Or Sylar, rather. Nathan!Sylar. Sythan.

What?

Peter was losing it!

Whatever.

Yeah, _not_ Peter's day.

Peter bent over, and picked up the screw driver, going back to work on the busted door lock.

That was when...

"Why ever would leave your bedroom window open on such a cold night, Peter?"

Peter dropped the Philip's, a-gain.

"Need some help with that?"

"Sylar..." Peter groaned, stomping up to Sylar and placing his hands on Sylar's chest, pushing him backwards until he had slammed the taller man into the wall, hard. "What the _fuck_ did I tell you about following me here? Huh? HUH?! Do you WANT to die? I thought you only STOLE my niece's ability because you wanted to live FOREVER, but you-are-ASKING-for-it!"

Sylar leaned his head down and forwards, until his lips were less than an inch apart from Peter's. Still, Peter didn't pull back, not wanting Sylar to think he was the least bit intimidated.

"Don't go getting all 'frisky' on me, pretty little Petrelli..."

Slowly, Peter lessened the distance in between their faces even more so.

"You _disgust_ me," Peter whispered against Sylar's lips, their lips brushing together, "I don't know _what_ you came here for, but if it's what I _think_ you're thinking, you've got another thing _coming_, which will _not_ be you. Now, I suggest you go out and find a suitable hooker, you sick, sick fuck. Then you can fuck, fuck the night away and get tied to bed while wearing a corset, fishnets, and a frilly apron for all I care. Here, I'll even give you the money for her. Or him. My God, you are _sick_."

Peter slammed Sylar back into the wall a final time, before he got his wallet out of his coat, got out five hundred dollars, and placed it into the palm of Sylar's hand.

"Now, get the fuck out of my apartment."

Fuck.

That had felt damned good for Peter to say and do.

He was back in control again.

Not Sylar.

Acting as if nothing had happened, Peter waltzed back over to the open front door, leaned over, picked up the screw driver, and went back to work on the metal lock.

"You don't know what you're doing," Sylar pointed out.

"I said to GET OUT!" Peter yelled, not caring _who_ in the complex heard him.

"Tou-chy," Sylar responded with a smirk, saying nothing else as he walked over to Peter and slammed _him_ into the wall.

"What the _hell_ do you think you're doing, Sylar?" Peter ground-out, "Hands _OFF_."

Sylar ran one of his hands down Peter's body, trailing it down into the pocket of his coat. Sylar removed Peter's wallet, and casually, replaced all of Peter's money back into it, before stuffing it back into Peter's coat, patting his hand over it several times.

"I'm not interested in prostitutes, Peter. They disgust me."

"Oh? Like you disgust me?"

Sylar rolled his eyes, snatching the screw-driver out of Peter's left-hand with his own and walking over to the door.

"NOW what are you doing?" Peter inquired.

"What you couldn't—can't do," Sylar answered.

Peter said nothing, staring dumbfounded as Sylar took off the broken lock and replaced it with the new one in a mere three minutes and twenty seconds.

Sylar shut the front door, and locked it, then picking the set of keys up off the floor. He walked back over to Peter, and handed them to him.

"Merry Christmas, Peter. Here you go. Not really the present I had in mind for you, though."

Peter arched a brow as he hesitantly accepted the keys. "Oh? And what _did_ you have in mind, or should I even be asking? I know I'm gonna be sorry I did."

"Why Peter, do you _really_ want to see me _tied to bed_ wearing a _corset_, _stockings_, and a _frilly apron?_ You are _kinky_."

"That's utterly _perverted_, Sylar."

"_You_ thought of it."

Peter went silent. "...Shut-_up_..."

Sylar approached Peter once again, placing his hands on either of his shoulders before shoving him back into the opposing wall.

What _was_ it with Peter and Sylar slamming each other into walls, anyway?

"Get.. your filthy.. hands.. _off_ of me, Sylar."

"I think you'll beg to differ after I give you your _real_ Christmas present," Sylar cooed, dropping down to his knees. Sylar moved quickly after that, pushing Peter's coat out of the way before his hands grasped onto Peter's belt buckle, unsnapping it and unzipping his pants.

"What the FU—Ooh GOD!" Peter's curse was cut-off and quickly transpired into a moan when Sylar took him into his mouth as if there was nothing more in the _world_ he wanted to do.

Sylar sucked on Peter for a few more moments, before he pulled back.

"Knew you wanted me, Peter. Knew it."

Peter frowned, already gasping for breath. "Don't you _dare_ fucking stop, or I'll _kill_ you, I swear to _God_ I will."

Peter's hands tangled into Sylar's hair as he forced Sylar's head back down to his crotch, messing up his hair completely, until it was mused, falling into his face, shielding his dark eyes.

Sylar didn't hesitate, and took Peter back into his mouth, sucking feverishly.

Peter could tell Sylar wasn't the most experienced person in the world at this, but, fuck, he was good enough. All thoughts of his Christmas and his birthday gone to Hell in a handbag, his crazy-ass ma, his dead brother, his screwed-up niece, and even the psychotic killer before him flew out the window as Sylar sucked him, hard, fast, and unable to stop himself.

Peter began thrusting forth into Sylar's whet mouth, one hand still in his hair, the other hand cupping Sylar's face. Peter's face was flushed, and his breathing was heavy, and his movements were frantic, and, God, everything.

Sylar released Peter from his mouth once again, continuing to pump his hardness with one of his hands.

"I understand you now, Peter Petrelli," Sylar said, "I finally understand you, after all of this time. It took me a little while to understand Elle, and only a _second_ to understand Nathan, but now, I understand _you_. So _let go_ of your anger, Peter. Let me in. _Give me your abilities_."

"Fuck," Peter moaned, his head banging back against the wall, "Oh God, don't stop, don't you dare stop. Get your fucking mouth back down there."

"Do you want me, Peter?"

"I-I..."

"Do you?"

"YES!"

Sylar smiled.

The rules to the game had changed again.

And Sylar was now the one back in control.

"Knew you wanted me."

Sylar enveloped Peter with his mouth again, and it was only a few, scant more thrusts later that...

"SYLAR...!"

And so Peter came, and much to Peter's, and Sylar's, ultimate surprise, Sylar actually swallowed. Huh. Sylar had never done that before for anyone.

"Oh, oh God, oh fuck..." Peter gasped, trying to gather his breathing back to a normal rate.

Peter moved to redo his pants back into place, when Sylar said, "Wouldn't zip those babies up quite so quickly, Peter."

"Shut-up," Peter responded, suddenly completely embarrassed and utterly humiliated. "This-This doesn't change anything. You sucked me off, and that's all. There is no 'us'."

"Then give me your hand, and I'll prove you wrong," Sylar silently requested.

Peter frowned, holding out his hand.

Sylar took Peter's hand into his own, when a bright, pinkish-red spark filled Sylar's hand and a jolting burst of power flowed from Peter's body, into Sylar's. It was a feeling like no other, and Sylar relished in the sensation. Was this how Peter felt, every time he changed abilities?

"What the fuck was that?" Peter inquired with startle.

"This, Peter, _this_," Sylar answered, before he opened his right-hand, and it instantly filled with sparks of blue, electrical lightening.

Peter's jaw dropped. "Oh-Oh my God... You-You have my abilities...! What have I done...? What have I allowed myself to consent to...?"

"Guess the two people who have the Haitian's power cancel one another out, eh? Double negatives. I didn't get the time with Nathan, but you know the last time this happened, we became lovers..."

"You _killed_ Elle. And now you're going to kill me... Go on, you have my abilities now. The nullification. The power mimicry. Now you'll be able to absorb someone's ability instantly just with the touch of your fingers, while keeping them from using their abilities against you in the process. So go on now. Kill me."

Sylar frowned. "No, Peter. I will not."

"You got a little, um... yeah... on your lips..." Peter muttered, his face flushing bright red once again as he brought his hand up to Sylar's lower lip and brushed a spot of his own essence off of Sylar's face.

Sylar licked his lips as Peter pulled his hand back, brining his stained set of fingers to his mouth and brushing his tongue over them.

"P-Peter..." Sylar moaned, and, God, now his face was flushing.

"Old habits die hard, Sy," Peter grinned.

Change of game plans.

Peter had taken the control back.

Sylar swallowed, but then, forced out a small growl.

"_Don't_ call me that, 'Pete'."

Peter frowned. No one except for _Nathan_ was allowed to call him that.

"Okay then, 'Gabriel'."

"_Don't_ you _dare_ call me that. That's _not_ my name."

"Yes, it _is_."

"Fuck you, Peter, I am leaving."

Sylar sounded pretty pissed-off now, and felt like he had been blown-off. Or, maybe it had actually been the other way around, regarding that last one...

Shit.

Peter smirked, ceasing Sylar's wrist as he turned to leave. "You're not going _anywhere_. You only provided me with a Christmas gift. I didn't get my _birthday_ present from you yet."

"You're such a bitch, _Pete_."

"So are you, _Gabriel_."

Sylar growled again, suddenly leaning over before he lifted Peter into his arms, and began carrying him to the bed.

Okay, change on the field a-gain.

The ball was back in Sylar's court.

Sylar carried Peter all the way to the bed, and threw him down upon it, crawling atop his form and straddling him before...

_One Hour Later..._

Peter lay sprawled on his back, heaving desperately for breath, while Sylar was next to him, on his side, breathing normally, his elbow propped up on the pillow and the side of his head on his hand.

The fuck?

They had been going at it the entire time, and Sylar wasn't even tired.

They had also gone through three forth's of a bottle of lube.

"Like—Like I... said..." Peter began, trying once more to catch his breath, "This doesn't... change _anything_..."

"Oh no? Well will this?"

Sylar slipped a hand under the covers, down in between Peter's legs, before he began stroking, back and forth.

Peter let out yet another moan on this night, his head tilting back into the soft, white pillow.

"You are wantonly _insatiable_," Peter stated, looking at Sylar.

"So are you."

"And I'm gonna prove it, too," Peter said, rolling on top of Sylar before he spread Sylar's legs on either side of him. Peter touched Sylar's hip, as a spark of power rushed through Peter's body. Then, telekinetically, the almost-empty bottle of lubricant flew into his hand.

Peter leaned down over Sylar, and crushed their lips together, biting into his delicious lips hard enough to draw blood, as Sylar bit back. Well, who cared? Sylar could heal, and Peter could with a simple spark and a change of powers.

As Peter pulled back, Sylar whispered...

"Show me what you got, 'Pete'."

"I will, 'Gabriel'," Peter grinned, "My turn now."

Another strategy change.

Now Peter was writing the rules of the game again.

Sheesh.

It was _definitely_ that day again...

***

**A/N:** Yeah... I don't know...? Erm, sorry... yeah... I don't even know WHAT genre this is. x__x? Humour? Romance? Crack? Kinda angst? Hrm. Well, now I guess I need to go and write a Christmasy Tekken fic... yepa... And I actually have read a Petlar fic before where Sylar was in stockings and a frilly dress, and plenty of fics where Peter tied him to a bed, lmfao. I dunno whether that first one's a bad image or a good one. I wonder what Peter would actually think?

But, um, yes... please don't flame me.

Again, I delete anon flames and block logged-in flames. I didn't make you read this, I always give proper warnings! *runs away from the flames of doom*

But, anyways, hope all you have a delightfully wonderful holiday this year. :)

Merry Christmas, and a happy New Year!


End file.
